Dark Caller
by lilyjack00
Summary: Silent footsteps warily approach while watchful eyes roam hungrily over the unconscious female form, slumbering blissfully unaware.


Dark Caller

The blackest, loneliest hours of the morning, the formerly bustling town now fast asleep. Dusty, rutted streets deserted. No voices, no movement…only dimly wavering lantern light and inky, impenetrable shadows. The pulsating, rhythmic songs of insects are the sole accompaniment of a silent, vigilant traveler.

A sultry breeze whispers through drifting lace curtains at an upstairs bedroom window, darkened and secluded. She sleeps serenely at last, bedclothes tangled and abandoned in the mid-summer heat, gossamer white nightgown luminescent in the dusky light, clinging suggestively to generous, womanly curves. Elegant titian hair falls loosely in waves over one shoulder, rising and falling evenly with each tranquil breath she takes in repose.

The doorknob silently turns and an ebony shadow slips stealthily within like a feral animal from the outlying prairie. Silent footsteps warily approach while watchful eyes roam hungrily over the unconscious female form, slumbering blissfully unaware. He languidly takes in thick lashes against milky white skin and full breasts lifting gently with each unsuspecting breath. The shapely form scarcely concealed beneath her filmy nightgown leaves him yearning to feel her warm flesh beneath his impatient hands.

He perches noiselessly on the edge of her bed like a cat, carefully removes his hat and drops it soundlessly to the floor. Daringly, he takes a lock of flaming red hair between his fingers, lifting it to his nose. Detecting the distinctly feminine aroma of exotic oils and bath soaps, he closes his eyes and covetously rubs the perfumed silkiness over his stubbly cheek and sensitized lips, imagining what she would taste like.

His brash scrutiny wanders languorously down her voluptuous body. Boldly, he lifts the hem of her thin nightgown and skims it slowly up, up…over long, shapely legs, sensuous bare hips and softly rounded belly, revealing her creamy nakedness to his overheated gaze while he stifles an impassioned groan. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the heady, musky scent of her, and he must struggle to conquer the overpowering desire to move faster, to take her body quickly.

He softly trails a hand up one leg and over her full hip, smiling when she stirs with a breathless sigh. His fingertips tease her damp red curls apart, and his own breathing becomes ragged when her lips part suggestively and she bends one knee as if to offer herself fully to him. Stroking her warm, vulnerable sex with long, lingering fingers, he bites his lip soundlessly as she responds to his skillful, probing touch with throaty moans and soft whimpers. He nearly comes, listening to the primitive sounds he elicits from her, even in her sleep. She is slick, swollen, and ready for him.

When her lush hips begin moving nearly imperceptibly yet wantonly, taking his breath away with their primal rhythm, he can no longer ignore his own aching, throbbing desire. He gratefully loosens his uncomfortably confining pants and slips hotly between her legs, moving slowly, slowly, slowly inside of her velvety entrance. He pushes her nightgown higher and ravishes her with voracious lips, her back arching instinctively, a silent plea offering her soft, heaving breasts to his scorching mouth.

When he reaches down and touches her secret woman's place again, she cries out and cries out an unintelligible name. Her passionate surrender triggers his own undoing. He comes inside of her satiny softness at last, in a blinding release that makes his body sweat and tremble uncontrollably. When he regretfully pulls out of her most intimate embrace, she utters a tiny bereft sound that makes him groan.

Kissing her inflamed pink buds, still straining from the lavish attentions of his mouth, her soft belly, and finally her mound of thick red curls, he appreciatively inhales her intoxicating scent one last time. Reluctantly, he pulls her nightgown back down over her glistening damp, bare body. Pausing to listen for her sated sighs and finally the even breaths of deep sleep again, he soundlessly slips out the door and down the wooden stairs to the darkened, lonely street below.

ljljljljlj

Doc and Festus sit at a table in the Long Branch, sipping coffee and arguing about the weather. "Now, Doc, you know it ain't usually this gol-dern hot during the nighttime…"

A graceful vision in butter yellow with upswept copper curls, Kitty carries the morning paper and her own cup of coffee, joining her two bickering friends at the table.

Doc growls, "What in thunder do you mean, Festus? Mornin', Kitty… It's July, for heaven's sakes! What do you expect?"

"Well, now I 'spect it was so hot last night I purt near had to sleep out on the roof to get a little smidge of fresh air!"

Doc grumbles, eyes searching heavenward, "Oh, goodness gracious…"

Frowning, Kitty scolds, "Now, you two, don't you have anything better to talk about than the weather?" Delicately painted lips carefully sip from her hot cup as she unfolds the newspaper.

Matt enters the saloon through the swinging doors and ambles toward their table, hooking his thumbs in his gun belt. He scowls, "Kitty, are these two at it again?"

She looks over the top of her paper at him. "I'm afraid so, Matt." She regards him wordlessly, but her eyes softly gleam when she looks at him. The corners of Matt's mouth turn up enigmatically in a warm, private smile as he returns her intent gaze.

Their subtle, silent communication is interrupted by an oblivious Festus. "Matthew, whar's yer hat?"

"I…um, I've managed to lose it somewhere…" Matt sheepishly replies.

Kitty's brows delicately arch. "Really."

"I'm pretty sure I've got an old hat back at the office I can wear…" Matt avoids her eyes and quickly changes the subject, "Festus, you wanna ride up to the Bailey homestead with me this morning? I want to check on old man Bailey. Moss Grimmick tells me he's been feelin' poorly…"

"Shore, Matthew, I'll ride with ya'."

Kitty rises as if to leave, tucking her paper under her arm and retrieving her coffee. "I've got to meet with the whiskey drummer in a little while. You boys have fun on your little trip." She sidles up close to Matt and huskily murmurs in his ear, "And if you come back and see me again tonight, I may give you your hat back." Winking slyly at him, she swishes toward her office in a whispering, deliciously fragrant cloud of delicate yellow fabric. Matt stares wistfully after her.

Festus squints curiously at him, scratching his head. "What'd she say, Matthew?"

Hurriedly, Doc intervenes, "Oh, never you mind, Festus. Now, if we're goin' to Mr. Bailey's place, we'd better get goin'."

"Now who said you was goin', you old scudder…"

Matt sighs heavily and heads out the door of the Long Branch, hatless, thinking what a long wait it will be for evening…


End file.
